[authorizedtm]

DOSSIER

occupation: you've never heard of his organization, and you never will, not a PEIP positive traits: driven, clever, loves his community and the world enough to try to do good negative traits: overly intense, prone to bouts of anger, uncompromising in his beliefs three aesthetics: black coffee steaming on the counter, combat boots so well worn it's a surprise they haven't fallen apart yet, a world atlas now years out of date but still dogeared from all the places that you've been.

biography: general john macnamara is a man lacking a compass in recent years. since his sister gina's disappearance years prior, he's thrown himself even harder into work. losing his mentor, and then his sister shortly after, and being thrown headlong into a power vacuum in the absence of the colonel, john rebuilt his life around work. while he wasn't exactly the first choice by way of chain of command, no one else was prepared to do the grueling work.

in the intervening years he's traveled the world to put out fires no one knew were erupting, but has largely set down roots in hatchetfield. he keeps his sister's lease from all those years ago current, in hopes she'll return one day, and lives near to the edge of town. in recent years, his temper has been known to get the better of him on occasion when he spends too much time at the birdhouse.

[workinboystm]

The box is a shock, to say the least. Though an unlikely friend, it turns out that John MacNamara and Henry Hidgens have truly more in common than the general public would assume. And, so, often times they'll find each other at The Birdhouse, enjoying drinks in moderate silence. It's nice, he thinks, to have someone that gets it. Hatchetfield is a large town, yes, but to feel so alone in a town bustling with people is a unique situation. Henry's glad he doesn't have to suffer through these feelings alone.

With a nod, he slides the box in front of him, carefully unwrapping it. The watch comes into view as John explains what it is, what it does, and his eyes are wide with curiosity. "Astonishing," he breathes, already beginning to dislodge it from the velvet holder. "Thank you, John," he adds on, voice genuine and sincere. "I -- I didn't bring anything with me," he trails off, though he knows the other man will wave him off. It's about the message, moreso than the reciprocation. As he begins to fasten it around his wrist, he turns. "If you don't mind -- what recent events have you distracted?"

[authorizedtm]

As expected, John waves off the mention of a present in turn. "It's a gift, Henry, not an obligation. I care for your friendship, Henry, and the time that we spend together." It isn't an entirely intentional comment on the watch, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward as he catches the unintentional tie. He isn't entirely immune to his own accidental humor. As quickly as it's there, it disappears again into a not quite sullen but somewhat troubled expression that he tries to swallow with a swig of beer.

My sister is back in town--- Gina." He doesn't remember if he's ever said her name to him, it's as likely as not after so long. "It's been almost sixteen years since we've seen each other, and so the reunion has been involved." The tone isn't necessarily a negative one, but troubled none the less. Something picking at the edges of his composure. He doesn't do well with the emotions, he never has. It's easier to retreat into a silent stoicism than it is to confront them.

[gumshoetm]

He is late, but not by much. Not enough for him to even really notice it when he wandered into the Birdhouse looking for his contact. He had a feeling he'd be able to spot the guy based on the way he spoke and introduced himself on the phone. General John MacNamara. A military guy. Not that surprising seeing as he'd just met a Lieutenant the other night. He'd only gotten her first name and number, but he was curious to know if more were lingering about. What kind of military presence was there in Hatchetfield? Was there reason for concern? Reason to ask questions? He wasn't sure, but he was a curious guy by nature and it was hard not to have those questions at the forefront of his mind. This was a business meeting, not a leisure thing. He had to hold himself to a certain degree and appear as put together as possible. A professional.

Malone steps up to the table with a crooked grin, hand outstretching to meet the other's. He lets the man introduce himself and the investigator gives a nod, "Please to meet ya, John-- mind if I call you John? Or would you prefer General?" He's teasing and it shows with the small chuckle that leaves him as he shifts to sit on the chair for the table MacNamara's chosen. He settles into it and reaches into the his fanny pack at his front once good, reaching in and pulling out a little metal tube that he pops open to retrieve a toothpick from. He closes the tube up and places it back in the pack before placing the toothpick in his mouth, instantly rolling it from one side of his mouth to the other.

[authorizedtm]

"John. This is personal business, not professional." Is it though? Does the divide exist so cleanly in his mind or is it muddled into the grey of history? John can't fully say without trying to unravel the Gordian knot of his thoughts. Something in Hatchetfield feels off in a way that he can't place and it makes him uneasy. Uneasy enough to even attempt this.

"I need you to keep an eye on someone for me. I don't need pictures, or reports unless you see something..." He searches for a word, any word, to describe exactly what he means, but settles ultimately on a watered down description. "...strange. She knows how to handle herself, but I have some concerns."

From his pocket, he produces a picture. Old, but in surprisingly good condition, kept in a frame that hasn't seen the light of day in years. He slides it across the table face up. A collection of three people, that might have been friends once, or something worse, seemingly unaware of the camera in the moment. A younger version of John, as stoic as ever though a hint of what might be considered a smile, a woman beside him, and a dark haired man. On the back are names. John MacNamara, Gina Macnamara, and two thick black lines struck through what would have been the third name leaving only a capital C partially visible. 2009. Followed by another thick black line. "It's out of date, but you're keeping an eye on her. Her name is Gina, she's my sister. She only recently returned to town."

[refugetm]

gina had been gone for fifteen years. she had no expectations of any trace of her being left in hatchetfield. maybe a thing or two that john kept for sentimentalities sake, and truly, maybe she should have sold off her things before leaving. but when she had left, she had needed to get out of hatchetfield and to never look back. that place carried too many demons, and the wilbur incident? it had been the final straw to truly break her.

she knew it was selfish to leave john behind. he was also mourning wilbur or, rather, the idea of him that they had both been bamboozled by. but again, gina had to get out and she didn't have the time or energy to think any further beyond her own nose.

when john revealed her apartment to her, she was stunned. it was kept. there was hardly a lick of dust in the place. the fridge was understandably empty, but other than that, it was a time capsule of a girl past. a girl who had the world ahead of her with bright eyes despite nothing both terrible circumstances working against her. she wished, more than anything, that she could go back in time and protect that girl in her first twenty-something years of life.

she lifted her gaze from the keys in her hand and over to her brother, a light frown tugging at her lips. " it wasn't your fault, you know, " she murmured, pausing for another moment. " and it doesn't have to be tonight . . . but i'd really like to sit down and talk to you about everything. maybe with some good beer. or cheap beer. either will suffice, " she teased with a slight hint at a joking smile, one to try to lighten the mood. one to prove that she was doing better.

[authorizedtm]

"It wasn't your fault, you know."

As much as he knows that, it doesn't fully relax his bristling nerves. Deserved or not, the hurt and anger remains. "I know." He tries to sound like he means it, and surprises himself with how convincing it sounds. Maybe the rank has made him a better liar by virtue of necessity. He doesn't elaborate for a moment, occupying himself with the cigarette, but he can't help the faintest smile tugging at his mouth at the familiarity of the request. "I'm a general now, Gina... I think good beer is the least I can do."

He tries to keep the ghost of Cross at bay in the comment, the cost of the rank hanging heavy in his bones every time it's brought to his attention. With a solemn nod, he ashes his cigarette.

"We can talk, whenever you're ready. You should take some time to settle first, I'm not going anywhere." Internally, he winces at the wording. An unintentional barb, at least, he tells himself that wasn't the intention. "There's enough to keep me busy. Never a dull day here."

[authorizedtm]

The box that John produces is simple and unassuming, a black cardboard box no larger than a baseball that he slides across the table to @workinboystm. "Belated Christmas present," he says by way of explanation. "It was meant to be done before the holidays, but there were some delays, and then I was meant to pick it up but allowed myself to be distracted by... recent events. "

Inside the box sits a vintage watch, carefully restored from nearly a century of passing hands and abuse. The brass fittings are polished to a mirror shine and the glass replaced with great care. "I won't take offense if it isn't your style, but I thought if nothing else you might appreciate the scientific novelties of a radium watch. Give it an hour or so in the sun and the glow should return, or so I'm told."

[authorizedtm]

"You don't have to keep it." John fights to keep his tone casual, watching @refugetm out of the corner of his eye as he exhales a cloud of smoke, blowing it out of the far corner of his mouth as a matter of courtesy. When he'd kept the lease current, he wasn't thinking about the memories. At least, not after the first year. When he sometimes dropped by as if she might open the door. He didn't tell her about that when he handed over the keys. He didn't think of memory in the way of a double edged sword that what he clung to as the world upended was the same thing she left to escape. The general doesn't say a word about it beyond.

"I thought you might need somewhere to get your feet under you if you came back, and the last thing you'd need is to be stuck in my guest room." A meaner dog sits inside him, one whose slipping leash was once well in hand. A protective instinct that sits with bristled fur and teeth exposed, his animosity isn't entirely aimed towards Gina but it doesn't preserve her entirely from the risk. You need your space after all.

[authorizedtm]

He's late. John tries not to let that color his first impressions of @gumshoetm, but it sticks in his mind as the clock on the wall ticks steadily over from 5:02 to 5:03. It isn't by much, but time is something to be respected. Worrying the business card between his thumb and forefinger, tapping it against the table top as he questions his instincts once again. Glances around the nearly empty Birdhouse, he knows it's too early for most to be here. Still no sign of Gina having materialized, but he's overly cautious. The entire operation treads the moral line with more delicacy than he wants to admit as he takes a swig of his bourbon. It's too early for that too, but it steels the will to do what needs to be done. Or at least, what he thinks is necessary.

When the door of the bar opens, he stops the incessant tapping of the card stock setting it face down on the wood. "Mr. Malone." John doesn't need an introduction, he's done his own research, knows well enough exactly what face he's been searching for. You're late. He almost admonishes him, but refrains from it. This is not one of his soldiers, and what he's asking requires both discretion and civility. Starting on a hostile note doesn't help either of them, and while. diplomacy has never been John's strongest virtue, he attempts it all the while. He outstretches his hand to the investigator. "John MacNamara. Thank you for meeting me."